


Whoever Invented The Years Should Be Shot

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-25
Updated: 2008-08-25
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:46:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8740948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam reflects upon Time and how much he and his brother have left. Written for the Oscar Wilde Appreciation Fanfiction Challenge on LJ and the rest of the entries (challenge closes on September 20th, 2008) may be found Here





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** One of the shortest fics I've ever written, and definitely the shortest for the fandom. Beta'd by the ever-vigilant cristal_ski (on LJ)

  
Author's notes: Warning: Wow, I’m married to Kripke? They’re half mine? Which halves? Wait, does it matter?  
Really though, I’m just a chick with a computer and an overactive imagination. Shameless use of Gravedigger by Dave Matthews references and The Dark Knight quotage.  
Quotation: "Most modern calendars mar the sweet simplicity of our lives by reminding us that each day that passes is the anniversary of some perfectly uninteresting event."  


* * *

_A child has no concept of time. Minutes, hours, days mean nothing to them, and yet, they always find wonder in the world. Why shouldn’t we follow their example?_

 

Sam remembered when he was a child, when time was just an abstract thought; he thought that 103 years was forever and the gravestone that said “Cyrus Jones, 1810 to 1913” meant that Cyrus Jones lived forever. And Sam, being seven or eight at the time thought that Cyrus Jones must have lived, must have liked living, to keep doing it for so long. 

But the older, more grown up Sam wondered, had Cyrus Jones really lived? What did he define as living? Breathing? Eating? Or something more important? Did Cyrus Jones feel alive until the day he died, or did his mind and heart die long before?

Was his life of the body or the soul?

 

\--

 

_A year? What was a year supposed to mean anyway? Wasn’t time just an illusion created by man so that he could define his life? This man was twenty-seven years old. What was that supposed to mean? That he’d survived for twenty-seven years? His calendar age didn’t mean anything about what he knew, there were seventy-year-old children out there for Christ’s sake, and there were toddlers that were adult, responsible, mature._

_Calendar age had nothing to do with how old you were. It had nothing to do with how much you lived or how much you learned. Life should be lived in stages. Maybe then, Dean wouldn’t be stuck in the predicament he was now._

 

\--

 

Sam would just delay that last stage until he was done with him, and they could both move on. But that wasn’t what Dean wanted; he wanted to die before he lived to see Sam become the villain. And Sam would delay that stage of his life- if it were even really a stage of his life- as long as Dean was alive.

A year? Why did people have to define themselves by time? Who decided how long a second was anyway? Or a minute? An hour? A day? Humans over-complicated things by using the phases of the moon, turning of the earth and math to turn the days they lived into these little definite boxes so that they didn’t have to deal with the fact that they couldn’t control any of it. 

They couldn’t stop time because they defined the millisecond. They couldn’t stop death because they had an age. They couldn’t live forever because they could envision the days and months and years in perfect detail. 

 

_By creating these cut out little pieces of time, they complicated life and killed forever._

 

\--

 

That Dean only had a year left meant that they only had so much more time to do the things they wanted to do. Dean wanted to continue doing what they did best. Sam wanted to savor each moment, because he knew that Dean wouldn’t live forever like Cyrus Jones. He only had one of those One-hundred-and-three years left, and Sam had to remember every moment of it if he were going to live the rest of his life without _Dean_.

 

So he kissed a little deeper, felt a little more, moaned a little louder, so when the time came, the memories would stand up to the test of a time he didn’t create or want. So that when he was dying, he would remember their kisses, touches, moans, and they would be feather light and sweet with age. Worn with the passage of time he couldn’t stop, even if for just a year.

 

\--

Every kiss had the ring of finality in it, even though they knew that Dean still had time. Every fuck felt like it would last forever, and yet they knew that that was impossible. Their forever lasted a year. They crammed an entire lifetime into one year, a whole series of anniversaries and birthdays and holidays that no one even remembered why they were holidays anymore. A whole series of thoroughly uninteresting and uninspired events into the infinity of a year. Each day that passed made them realize that they only had so much more time. There were only so many more days in which to live, to laugh, and to love.

 

They had to cram it all in, and that ruined the fun of forever. It marred the perfect simplicity of a lifetime of love and happiness. It made him realize that all those happy couples that lost a partner suddenly were lucky, because they never had to feel the end coming. They never had to feel this sort of pain, this anguish, the bittersweet passing of an hour doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company and knowing that it was just one less hour that you’d have with them. 

 

They would share the same pain, because after all, they were still losing a loved one, but… Sam knew that he felt this loss keener than even Dad’s loss of mom. Dad had Sam and Dean. Sam just had Dean.

 

\--

 

Maybe, when the time came, they could spend eternity together. When Sam had saved Dean’s soul from Hell, when Sam was dead from _what-the-fuck-ever_ , maybe they’d spend the rest of eternity together.

 

But deep down, Sam would always know that that year was the shortest and longest year of his life. It was filled with both insignificant but remembered moments, and oh-so-important ones long forgotten or warped with time and remembrance.

 

Sam would eventually kill whoever decided how long a year was.


End file.
